I know, I know. What's with me and the e.e. cummings? Somehow, this poem speaks to the feelings that I have about boys right before a date. I'm not sure what that says about me. And by the way, people? I would kill for a cigarette. (No, I'm not going to smoke one, but boy wouldn't I love to.)
[the boys i mean are not refined]
the boys i mean are not refined
they go with girls who buck and bite
they do not give a fuck for luck
they hump them thirteen times a night
one hangs a hat upon her tit
one carves a cross on her behind
they do not give a shit for wit
the boys i mean are not refined
they come with girls who bite and buck
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamite
the boys i mean are not refined
they cannot chat of that and this
they do not give a fart for art
they kill like you would take a piss
they speak whatever's on their mind
they do whatever's in their pants
the boys i mean are not refined
they shake the mountains when they dance
12 years ago
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